


Static

by kingfisherBlues



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ending relationships., Fair warning., Gen, Nothing in this is happy., Quadrant Confusion, Relationship confusion., Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-06 23:44:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/741568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingfisherBlues/pseuds/kingfisherBlues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most days are little better than white noise.  They're a snowy expanse in the memory, hissing sharp and fertile ground for slothful rot to take hold of what few precious things are held dear.</p><p>
<i>You've already lost so much, but you didn't think about what would happen if you lost them.</i>
</p>
<p>
This is decomposition in three parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'll state here that the relationships tagged are ones that are present in this work, but not all of them are deeply explored. Mostly because my faint heart trembles in the face of unhappy Rose/Kanaya, and this is a very unhappy work.

**== > Dave: Accost the pretty troll girl.**

You're not 'accosting' jack shit. You're chilling in a media-room-turned-bedroom that you claimed ages ago, not that it really mattered. Sleeping was as nebulous as waking; either way, you found yourself walking through dream bubbles and parrying the attentions of the annoying dead. The only discernible difference between the two were in those strange moments when you came across your own sleeping body, usually passed out on the busted old sofa you had dragged into the room or sprawled across the lumpy mattress you use as a bed.  


But at the moment, you are very awake as you draw on loose sheets of paper, sitting calm as could be at the desk you had claimed along with the room. You don't have the time to accost anyone, let alone the need.  


The pretty troll girl walks in by herself, stepping stealthy through the open door before she pauses in a brief twitch of surprise. You guess she hadn't been expecting you to be sitting at your desk, or else she would have barreled inside with a raucous call of _"GET UP, coolkid, let's go exploring!"_  


It's a rare moment that you have her at a loss. You've got to take advantage of this situation.  


**== > Dave: Accuse.**  


You set your pen down on the desk with a firm click, turning in your seat towards Terezi and propping one elbow on the back of your chair. You let a pause beat in silence.  


You only wish you had a glass from which to sip dramatically.  


Terezi tightens, uncertainty puckering into a frown.  


"Young lady, do you know what time it is," you deadpan.  


She blinks, then laughs a moment later, that high pleased cackle that makes you grin in response. "You sound like a nagging moirail in a late day movie," she crows, skipping forward to meet your open arms.  


You grab her waist and try not to suffocate in her familiar scent as she practically smashes your head against her chest, arms squeezing tight around your neck. She's wearing her dragon cape again. You feel the nose of the hood bump the back of your neck as Terezi presses a kiss to your skull. "I thought you would be asleep!" she exclaims, tugging affectionately at the ends of your hair. "I was going to observe your peculiar human hibernating ritual until you woke up. Or I wake you myself! My patience with your lounging is running thin, as it seems rather pointless and ultimately unpleasant."  


"It's pleasant if you're not a crazy-ass troll," you inform her stomach sagely. She cackles, running her claws over your shoulders. You shiver, a smile twitching at the corners of your mouth.  


"So are you awake or are you going to rest on your depressing human respite slab?"  


"Nah, I'm pretty awake," you mutter into her shirt. You squeeze once more and pull back, hands settling comfortably on her hips. Her hands cover yours, holding them in place. "Can't sleep for shit, do you want to steal a movie or something before--"  


Her knuckles are scraped raw, bloody teal smearing over torn skin and congealing at the edges. You are overly familiar with scrapes and bruises from a childhood spent in schoolyard scuffles -- as well as just being little-kid clumsy -- but you're also pretty familiar with how the skin over one's knuckles breaks when one punches something hard enough.  


You pull your hands out from under hers and catch her wrists. She tries to take a step back, embarrassment flavoring her cheeks a pretty teal, but you hold firm.  


There are bruises on her forearms. They're shaped like fingers.  


She takes another step back, and this time her wrists fall from your slack hands. You're standing before you realize it, though it puts you at a distinct disadvantage. You're tall enough now that the hood of her cape nearly hides her rueful smile from sight.  


You can't quite voice the question at the end of your tongue before she starts talking.  


You catch the words "spades", "kismesis", and the name "Gamzee" before everything starts to sound like buzzing.  


**== > Dave: Pay attention.**  


You're trying to, but it seems like your senses are taking turns. Your ears clock out as your gaze is caught on the clotted scratches peeking out from her t-shirt sleeves. The shirt itself is less than immaculate; soda stains the hem and chest as a dark bruise on faded grey, offset by other splashes of poorly scrubbed color that you suspect might be blood. You perversely wish it was blood. The problem of whose does not bother you as much as the terrifying possibility that it isn't.  


Terezi switches her weight from foot to foot, fingering a faded mark on her wrist. Her gaze is turned downward, as it had been nearly the entire time she was speaking. All you're presented with is the button eyes of a love-worn dragon cape.  


You will admit that as far as capes go, it's a pretty dope one. But you're not exactly in the mood to deal with Lieutenant Cherry Blast at the moment.  


"So you're dating this dude?" you state blandly. That much you were able to parse, even though your ears had checked out for most of her speech.  


The dragon's head jerks and you catch a flash of a grimace. It badly wants to imitate the knife-sharp grin that she's flung your way so many times, but instead it just looks painful.  


"Yes, coolkid," she mocks, the grimace turning bemused. "That was indeed the point of everything I just said a few moments ago! You are given points for recollection, but all of your reward badges have been taken for the lack of flair."  


"Shit, I was saving those," you mumble, shuffling your feet, and the metal floor of the old media room whines in protest. You allow yourself to wince in response to the noise rather than the unexpected pain in your chest, a nervous flush rising across your face. The tip of Terezi's nose twitches; your flush deepens, mouth a careful line as you try to ignore the trembling of your hands. Her nostrils flare. You shove your hands in your pockets.  


You've never broken up with someone before. You didn't think you'd feel it would feel so awkward.  


She's looking at you expectantly. Most of her face is still hidden by the hood of her cape, but her nose is pointed your way and her patented grin has made way for a puzzled little frown.  


"Dave? Are you upset?" she asks, voice surprisingly gentle, and that breaks the dam.  


"Hell no, I'm not upset," you start, mouth unhinged. "I'm chill with this, you know, whatever, it's your life and you can do whatever you want, even though that juggalo douche is a creepy ass motherfucker what don't got two decent cells in his body to throw a revival and convert the rest of them to the saintly ways of the troll Messiah and he probably smells like crusty cheese dust and Faygo--"  


Terezi rocks back on her heels, teeth bared in a shocked smile. "Dave! I didn't know you hated _him!_ "  


You stutter to a stop, take a breath, and fix her with what would be a withering look -- if you weren't constantly wearing sunglasses, you remember a beat later.  


"What the hell are you talking about," you ask as evenly as possible to make up for the slip in composure.  


"Wow, Dave, I thought you had a hate crush for Karkat, not Gamzee! You guys pick on each other all the time, it's really embarrassing, you should just ask him out already," Terezi says all matter-of-fact, stepping forward to shove her hands in your pockets alongside yours. It's a familiar gesture, one she's done so many times during months gone by that you can feel yourself leaning slightly backwards, ready to let her rest her chin on your chest and grin, inches away from your chin, just as likely to lick as she is to kiss.  


Instead, you step away. Your abandoned chair bumps against the back of your knees; you thrust it away with an awkward little gesture, the metal legs scraping against the floor with a whine. The annoyance that flares up over the hot hurt under your breastbone is enough to help you keep some semblance of a calm composure.  


Terezi stumbles into the sudden void of your leaving, finds her balance, and frowns.  


"What? Did you hate Gamzee that much?" she muses, cheeks tinging teal.  


"No, I don't fucking hate the doucheclown," you say with more heat than you intended. Her frown deepens, one fang catching on her bottom lip in a way that you are overly familiar with and it _hurts._  


You take a breath.  


"No, I don't hate him," you state, "And I don't hate Karkat either, just in case you were going to slander our 'bro' status any further, 'cause we're totally tight, so spread that around instead of your cherry-scented lies, and I don't get why you're all dating that dude but it's not like I can govern your life, though I was just finally getting used to the taste of chalk, but I can suck on green any old times, 'specially if we still get a chance to hang around the meteor--"  


She stops your rambling a second time, holding up a hand with old confidence. For a second, she looks like she did when the two of you first started dating: dressed in stained clothing and marked with old bruises, she stands like a bloodhound that found a fresh scent.  


"Coolkid, your newest batch of bluster sounds like a decided cessation! If we examine what's been presented so far after your initial inquiry of my recent whereabouts, there shouldn't be a cessation of anything but ignorance in regards to my romantic endeavors."  


She flicks the edge of your cape, moving into a striking stance. Her grin is predatory.  


"So what the hell is your problem?" she demands.  


Against your will, you bunch your shoulders defensively; she plants her feet and flicks your cape again, one bright claw barely catching against the fabric.  


"There ain't a problem," you say as evenly as possible, trying to keep your ground.  


She flicks an empty fold of fabric on your sleeve. You flinch. "Your fists are looking for the Mother Grub in your pockets and your chin is thrust out so far, a cavalreaper would mistake it for a spare lance! We may be dating flushed, human boy, but don't think I won't get you into a pile until we jam this out." She laughs, small and conspiratorial; your guts twist.  


"Are we still dating?" you ask, voice low to cover any betraying sounds.  


Terezi stops in her quest to prod you into speaking. You rush forward before she could answer.  


"You just said that you were dating some other dude, TZ, and I don't think I'm cool with being your second boyfriend, and I'm sure as shit not cool with all those fucking marks you've got up and down your arms, not to mention what else you may be hiding."  


"But you're not my boyfriend," she says with a pointed twist to her lips. "You're my _matesprit_."  


She has you blocked. It doesn't matter how many slang terms and 'human' words you try to stick to her, she's a troll first and your girlfriend second. She bleeds teal and her horns have shredded through several of your pillows, but she's also kept you laughing and kissed you so hard that it nearly hurts. You knew what you were getting into at the time -- Rose warned you, back before she was setting out all of her sheets to hang in the wind -- and you thought you could handle it. But there's an ugly jealousy brewing in your chest as you look down at the girl that calls you 'matesprit' and it's painful.  


You like her.  


You don't like the thought of her being hurt.  


You glance towards a nasty looking scratch running down the inside of her bicep. It's shallow but jagged, crusted over with old blood and new. "Yeah, I'm your matesprit," you concede gruffly. "And the doucheclown is your kismet fish?"  


There's a twist to her mouth that leads you to believe she's rolling her eyes, though you can't see them. "My kismesis, yes. Like I said, not a few moments ago! You're loosing your recollection points fast and your good behavior stars are at risk, Dave! If you keep this up, you're not going to have anything left!"  


There's a pause as she waits for you to reply, but you've lost the ability to speak somewhere along the line and now you have to go searching for it like a forgetful asshole, poking under people's feet and apologizing as they cuss you out. So no. She wasn't breaking up with you. You're her matesprit, and she's found a kismesis, and she hates him but loves you, and she's dating you both, but it's totally different, and she looks like she's on her way to talk to the kind detective about how he hit her, but that's shit, because the Terezi you knew wasn't one to let bullshit like that happen and you don't think --  


"I don't think I can do this," you say quietly.  


The dragon's hood tilts in surprise. Underneath, Terezi chews at her lip, a previously unseen bruise marking the edge of her jaw, and for a wild, unstable moment you want to shove her cape away and yell at her for being so goddamn _calm. You look like an ad warning about domestic abuse,_ you want to shout. _How the fuck can you date anyone that does_ this _to you?_  


But you know if you go for that route, the two of you will start arguing about troll dynamics until you make out as an apology and nothing will get resolved.  


The bruise on her jaw is oval in shape, ringed by shallow indentations that could be teeth marks, and you suddenly feel like being sick.  


Instead, you settle for a simple, "I can't be your second boyfriend." She's looking up at you before the sentences finishes, reaching out to catch your sleeve, but you slip past her and you walk -- _calmly, calmly, you are fucking calm_ \-- out the door and down the hall.  


The instant you feel far enough away, you break out into a run.  


**== > Dave: Accost your guilt.  
**

You're not accosting jack squat. You're going to sit in an empty supply closet and wrap yourself in your cape and you are not going to examine how chickenshit you're being.  


Because you knew this would happen. You _knew_ it would, when the pretty troll girl asked you to be her matesprit, and you said 'hell yes' to being her boyfriend, because she's brilliant and alien hot and she could kick fate's ass if she wasn't too busy pounding the universe into submission. You thought you could be cool about it. Just brush it off like hey, yeah, my girlfriend has another on the side, no big deal, we're all about love, baby, that's just some hate thing, whatever. You may have done your level best to annoy Karkat about quadrant bullshit, but you weren't ignorant.  


You knew it would happen, and you thought you could deal.  


Instead, you think about the bite on her jaw -- _love bite_ , your brain supplies, except it weren't a love bite at all, it was a goddamn hate bite, and you bury your face in your crossed arms and feel sick.  


**== >  
**

When you're done with not examining how chickenshit you were being, you go find Terezi. She was still in your room, sitting cross legged in your bed and reading a book that could brain an elephant. She looks up when you enter, expectant.  


She got the answer she was counting on.


	2. Chapter 2

CG: I KNOW YOU THINK THAT I SIT HERE WAXING MY BULGE WITH THE ASININE FLOUNDERING OF A BRAIN DEAD CRETIN UNTIL YOUR MAGNANIMOUS NAME GRACES MY SCREEN, BUT CONTRARY TO YOUR STUPID BELIEF, I ACTUALLY HAVE SHIT TO DO, STRIDER.  
CG: WE DON'T ALL HAVE THE TIME TO CONSTRUCT THE PERFECT *ILL BEATS* AND *SICK FIRES* TO ACCOMPANY OUR PETULANT FLAILING FOR ATTENTION FROM OUR SUPERIORS.  
CG: SOME OF US, LIKE MYSELF, ARE TOO BUSY BEING MATURE ADULTS THAT CAN TAKE CARE OF THEIR RESPONSIBILITIES RESPONSIBLY WITHOUT SPRAYING FEAR INDUCED URINE EVERYWHERE AS THEY FLEE IN SHAME.  
CG: SO YES, I'M FUCKING BUSY, FUCK OFF.  
TG: i didnt read any of that so are you in y/n?  
CG: I'LL SUMMARIZE FOR THE PARTICULARLY STUPID: FUCK YOU.  
TG: rude  
TG: buy me dinner first  
CG: OH, WHAT A JOY, ONCE MORE HE BRINGS FORTH THE IDIOTIC SOCIAL NORMS OF HUMANS WITH THEIR OH SO COMPLICATED MATING RITUALS!  
CG: I COULD BE REACHED FOR COMMENT ON THIS PRIMITIVE PHENOMENA IF I WEREN'T SO BUSY CONTEMPTUOUSLY VOMITING FROM EVERY ORIFICE.  
TG: oh my god shut up for a second because this is pretty simple shortstack  
TG: i am bored  
TG: do you want to plug in a gross game grub and conquer virtual worlds with me  
TG: yes no maybe idk roflmao  
TG: circle one and send it back nubby  
CG: STOP CALLING ME NUBBY. WE'RE THE SAME FUCKING HEIGHT, SHITSTAIN.  
TG: if you're standing on your tippy top claws yeah  
CG: CHOKE ON A BULGE.  
CG: WHY ARE YOU BOTHERING ME WITH THIS?  
CG: GO ANNOY TEREZI. SHE'LL BE ECSTATIC TO DESTROY PUNY POLYGONAL LIVES WITH YOU.  
TG: because im asking if you want to play  
TG: if i were asking tz if she wanted to annihilate space vixens and plant our proverbial flags then id be pestering her right now  
TG: but im not, im pestering you because we both know that all you have to do today is reorganize your romcoms for the millionth time and weep softly into the void over how troll jessica garter should have totally made out with that sassy blueblood  
TG: instead she let him go into the cullpit like a baabeast and had to scramble to woo another potential flush crush before the drones crushed them all  
TG: because thats an incredibly romantic move  
TG: im fucking swooning over here  
CG: FIRST OF ALL, PUTTING THE WORD 'TROLL' IN FRONT OF A NAME DOES NOT MAKE THAT PERSON AS REAL AS YOUR CRIPPLING LACK OF A WORKING BRAIN.  
TG: yeah i didnt think that was an actor but i also dont care  
CG: SECOND OF ALL, YOU CRIED WHEN WE WATCHED THAT MOVIE.  
TG: so did you  
CG: THAT'S BECAUSE IT WAS A BRILLIANT MASTERPIECE THAT POIGNANTLY ILLUSTRATED THE SERENDIPITY THAT'S SYNONYMOUS WITH LATE SEASON COOPERATIVE ROMANCES.  
CG: WHICH WOULD BE SOMETHING YOU'D UNDERSTAND IF YOU COULD FIND THE TIME TO STOP FONDLING YOUR SHAME GLOBES AND LEARN SOMETHING IMPORTANT FOR ONCE.  
TG: oh my god i dont care  
TG: are you down for thrashing some sweet vectors or what  
CG: FINE.  
CG: LET'S PLAY SOME OF YOUR DUMB GAMES FOR DUMB WIGGLERS.  
TG: dont even pretend to hate  
TG: you have the high score in space ruffians iv: the corsair's revenge  
CG: AND I FUCKING EARNED IT, *DUDE*, SO DON'T YOU FORGET IT.  
CG: I'LL MEET YOU IN MY BLOCK IN FIVE MINUTES.  
CG: BRING SOME OF YOUR CRISP NUTRITIONAL TRIANGLES IF YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU.  
TG: got it, one bag of doritos fresh out of the alchemiter  
TG: lets make shit happen

**== > Dave: Enter.**

When you show up at his room -- kicking the door open with one foot and arms full of suspicious alchemized snacks -- he's already thrown all of the pillows and blankets he could get his hands on into a comforting pile in front of the crackly old television shoved into the corner. You dump the food onto the floor in the no-man's land between pile and television. A can of soda rolls over and hit Karkat's foot as he sits crouched, coaxing the grub cupped between his hands into cooperation. 

"About fucking time," he mumbles absently, tickling what you imagine to be the grub's head with the jack of a wire that leads to the back of the television. 

"I'm three seconds under your five minute time limit," you drawl back instantly, voice taking on the sing-song cadence you know annoys him. 

His response is only to grab the can of soda and throw it at you. 

You easily dodge and flop down onto your chosen section of pile, taking your time to look around while Karkat gets the game grub plugged in. His room is different from yours, but familiar enough that you've stopped feeling out of place. A recuperacoon gurgles in the corner opposite the television and posters line the walls with scrawling Alternian script that you don't care enough to read. He's explained the plot of each one enough that you don't have to. 

But except for the 'cupe, the posters, and the scavenged pile, it's colorless and stark. Your own room is a prismatic rainbow in comparison to his. You paint on the walls when you're out of paper and too tired to alchemize more, and you and Terezi spent fond hours drawing new murals together, sometimes over old ones -- 

You pause in your line of thought, that few week old guilt rearing back up in your chest. It's painful fondness scented with a faint betrayal, and when you can't tell who the betrayal is aimed _at_ , you ignore it in favor of teasing Karkat. 

"Any time today would be great, grandpa," you mumble to the ceiling, stretching out your limbs in a lazy show of slothfulness. A pillow arcs into your line of sight and hits you in the face; you shove it off, sunglasses pushed painfully into the bridge of your nose, and sit up to glare. 

Karkat's still holding the grub, but it's accepted the wire jack and he's grinning that weird little grin where he looks angry and pleased all the same. "This one is new, asshole, from the third generation. And I'm not your lusus's lusus." 

You snag a wireless controller from the floor as the television's static chirps once and video game menu loads. "You're not my what what, now?" 

The grub is set gently in its holder and Karkat settles to your right, clutching his own controller. "I'm not your guardian's guardian, or rather your grandpa, since you purposefully ignore other cultures in favor of mapping the exact contours of your ass so that your head may be more firmly shoved into it," he gripes, digging through the pile of junk food left on the floor. "Shit, where's Dr. Breeze? Did I throw the only can at you? What a fucking waste." 

You dig out the soda out from the folds of the pile -- _Dr. Breeze's Cola Explosion (Now With Lime?!)_ \-- and hand it to him. "Since when d'you know about grandpas, grandpa?" 

"Since you called 'uncle' and I asked Rose what the shit an uncle was like a responsible anthropoterrorist and not like a whinging tool," he calls back, accepting the can and flicking the tab open with the same hand. He swigs and sets it down on the floor as you remember that evening, or morning, or whatever time it was out here with no sun to set. It doesn't matter, because what you do remember is going to bother Karkat -- he had had your felt markers, the prick, and you needed them -- and finding him asleep in his recuperacoon. You had flicked sopor slime at him to get him moving, only to be pulled under in a fit of early morning annoyance. 

You sneezed slime for weeks. 

"That doesn't count," you tell him as he selects Multiplayer mode and the first level begins to roll out across the screen. "I was under duress and you're an asshole in the morning. Oh, wait, you're always an asshole. Okay, a massive asshole in the morning." 

"Fuck you, Strider," he rejoins amicably. The two of you begin to button-mash, curled up in the gaming pile. "You called 'uncle'. Rose explained that term to me as well as your dumb human tertiary guardian relationships. I won." 

"Try to wake _me_ up in the mornings, see what happens," you mumbled under your breath; he only shoves your shoulder with his own and the two of you really tear into the game. 

**== > Dave: Unwind.**

It's easy enough to unwind, with an hour of mindless virtual violence and a dwindling pile of snacks that you and Karkat squabble over with easy familiarity. Over the long days and longer months of traveling through the void, you could say that Karkat has actually become your 'bro'. Not, of course, in the same way that you're bros with John, or anywhere near the level that you shared with your brother/ecto-dad, but bros all the same. The morning where he half-pulled you into the slime of his 'cupe, he'd let you go and held out a towel for you to wipe off on. 

He'd also laughed hard enough to bust some part of his alien anatomy, but still. If that wasn't what bros did, then why the hell would anyone bother to be a bro. 

The two of you reach the fourth level of the game and groan in unison when it turns out to be an underwater level. Karkat reaches over and pokes the game grub without you needing to say anything and the television returns to static. "These always end the same," he tells you with a roll of his eyes. "Get pulled into helping the seadweller with their massively important highblood quest and if you do it right, you're rewarded by a shove away from the cullpit! Good for you, space for brains, you avoid death another day so you can stomp more native populaces under your boots." 

"What else is a grizzled, hardened blue-blooded warrior supposed to do between cigars?" you mock, tossing the controller to the floor and stretching. An empty Doritos back crinkles under your leg and you kick it away, lolling back into the pile with your eyes closed. "There's only so many babes to seduce, 'less the seadweller has a better reward in mind." 

"Forget about seadwellers and go away," Karkat snaps, snatching up bits of trash and captchaloguing them in earnest. The air pops as each item disappears; you feel your soda can disappear from your hand and you flip him off. "Unless," he adds, still sharp, but now thoughtful, "You want to hang out for a little longer? You're not being a complete ass today." 

"Sure, fine, what with that heartfelt vouching for my character," you drawl, and thump one heel against the floor in what you hope is the general direction of the video disc player. "Pop in one of your shitty movies and we can jam." 

Karkat gets up, kicking your legs out of the way in the process, and you rearrange the pile as he selects a movie. When he flops back down, a stray chip pops out from between two pillows. He snatches it up and crunches it between crooked teeth before you can blink. You mime vomiting in disgust. He shoves you away. You shove back. The two of settle down in time for the movie to begin, and Karkat sits heavy at your side, one blanket pulled up around his shoulders. 

Twenty minutes in, the protagonist is going through the tragic throes of flush affection towards an ashen leaf, and Karkat asks, "What did you do now?" 

You'd been half-dozing in the pile, propped up by a dozen pillows. "Th'hell do you mean," you slur, idly rolling another can of crummy knock-off soda between your hands. 

He glances at you from the corner of his eye, mouth tense, and you're suddenly very alert. It's a wary look, not unlike the looks he gave you when everybody first settled in for the long haul on the meteor, but that had usually been accompanied by yelling and assertions as to your level of intelligence. 

"You said you wanted to jam, so let's jam," he says, shifting in the pile until he's turned more towards you. "You pestered me nearly as soon as I got up and except for that annoyance, you haven't been nearly as obnoxious as you usually are." He waves away your _"wow thanks im swooning"_ and huffs, clearly annoyed. "So what did you do, set fire to Kanaya's dress and come here to hide?" 

"Like that'd stop her from tearing me apart," you snort, and he sort of snort-chuckles in response, before cutting himself off with a lost expression. 

_What's that look for_ , you want to ask. 

"No, I didn't set anything on fire this time," you say instead, cracking open the soda and taking a sip. You wince. It tastes like sugar went on a drinking binge. "Just felt like hanging out with my bro, you know? There a problem with that?" 

Karkat shifts in his seat, looking annoyed again, which is better because you can deal with annoyed. "There is when you're avoiding nearly everyone else." 

"I'm not avoiding jack squat, short stop," you snap, setting down the soda with a click. "If you didn't want me to hang out with you, you could of just said so." 

"That's not what I fucking said at all, jackass, clear the wax out of your aurals," he snaps back, tugging at the ends of his blanket. "I just don't want you to--" He cuts himself off with a frothy curse, throwing his hands up in the air. "Shit fuck," he snarls, "What the fuck do I care if you're being a mopey little bug brain? Stick your head up your seedflap and take a good long whiff for all it matters, it's not like I'll ever show an interest in how you're doing!" 

"Christ, dude, all I wanted to do was play video games with you, not get into another stupid argument," you say with a flippant wave, already pushing yourself upright. "S'not my fault you read into stuff so much." 

"Read into--" His face colors a dull red, strange under the grey skin; you roll to your feet. _"What the shit is that supposed to mean?"_

You reflexively pause at the vitriol in his tone, but you absolutely do not look over your shoulder at him. You bend towards your sneakers, tightening the laces and retying them needlessly in a careful show of nonchalance. "It means the jam is over," you mildly return. "Since I'm not wanted around here, guess I'll go bother someone else, then--" and you turn to go. 

_"Get the fuck down here,"_ Karkat snarls, grabbing your wrist, and he yanks hard. You go down, unbalanced as you had been with one foot poised for the next step. You land heavily, sinking into the blankets and thrashing to get back onto your feet. 

Before you can find your balance, Karkat grabs you by the roots of your hair and brings your face level with his, teeth bared and eyes flashing with rage. "Don't be a fucking idiot, Strider," he growls, huffing. "Something's wrong, and you're going to--" 

He doesn't finish his sentence, because you dig your feet in for purchase and push forward, knocking him over, and the two of you tumble out of the pile and roll across the floor. He's yanking at your hair and cape before the two of you even come to a stop, fighting like you once did before getting over yourselves and sliding into some sort of friendship, but that's fine because-- 

"Fuck you!" you shout, grabbing his arms and trying to keep him from punching. "I don't gotta do shit, you-- you-- just _fuck you!_ " 

Karkat snarls again -- a genuine you're-about-to-get-mauled snarl -- and knocks you over, pressing one knee into your stomach and grabbing the front of your shirt. You hear fabric tear under his claws as his other fist rises; you do the only thing you can think of, which is grab his wrist and a fistful of his hair. 

The tip of one of his horns grazes your palm and you grab that too, just for good measure, only to have Karkat suddenly go limp. 

Limp isn't the right word for it. He slumps, pupils blown wide and all the rage drained from his face, leaving a sort of shocked tenderness in its place, and you're so freaked you push his suddenly relaxed form off. 

He falls over like a rag doll, knocking his head against the floor with a hollow metallic ring that you're sure must have hurt, because he yelps, just barely, like he doesn't understand where the pain came from but it's there. 

"Oh, fuck," you breathe, rolling to your feet. "Fuck. Karkat? What was that?" 

He doesn't respond. You shuffle closer, look down, and then kneel next to him, no longer caring if he rips you thirty new ones, because he's starting to cry. It's soundless, which is unnerving more for his apparent shock in the wake of such anger, and you don't know what to do. He's just laying there, hands at his sides and utterly vulnerable. 

"Karkat?" you try softly, and wipe the pinkish tear trail from his cheek with your hand. 

At your touch he surges to life, rolling away from you and pressing his back against the wall, knees bent to his chest and breath quick with the exertion. "Don't, do that," he hisses, "I'm not, no, I don't want that with you." 

You're still kneeling, hand reflexively pulled against your chest. "Want what?" 

He's still tense, but the old irritation surges into his features again, and he snaps, "Fucking hell, Dave, you're not so stupid as you constantly try to sound, think about it, idiot." 

You think about it. "Fuck." 

"Yes, fuck, finally, something connected." 

Terezi told you not to grab her horns. "Fucking quadrants." 

"Fucking _pale_ ," Karkat adds, relaxing from his tensed up pose. 

Even though she'd tease you about dating flush and getting you into a pile, grinning like it was scandalous. "Fucking. Goddamn. Quadrants." 

Karkat is staring, waiting for you to add something more. When you don't, he huffs, straightening his sweater like it's done him personal harm. "I'm cool with hanging out, Strider, and even with jams when you're obviously being an obtuse bulge munch, but I don't need to be your moirail." He shrugs, anger simmering down and embarrassment taking it's place. "Which means--" 

"I know what it fucking means," you snap, and he bares his teeth at the interruption. You wipe your hands on your pants and stand up, corrected your skewed sunglasses along the way. "I can't pull that shit either, okay? You're my bro. That's it." 

He glares up at you, still not as mad as he could be, and that somehow irritates you even more. 

"That's it," you repeat, except this time it's more like a question. When he nods, you turn tail and abscond. 

**== > Dave: Leave.**

You're as tense as a coiled spring as you hurry down the short hall towards the common room; when a brightly colored ball thuds into the floor in front of you, you all but jump out of your skin. 

Terezi, barefoot and wearing her cape, skids through the doorway after it. When she notices you, she stumbles and checks a shoulder against the wall, the joint cracking dully against hard metal. 

"Ow!" she cries out brightly, stepping away and nearly tripping over the errant ball. In her panic to regain her balance, she kicks it with the side of her foot and it rolls over to you. 

You pick it up and hold it out, face carefully impassive. "You okay?" 

She snatches it from your hand, holding it down at her side and slightly behind her back, like she's ashamed that you saw it. There's a thin-lipped smile on her face; you're afraid it's echoed on your own, because the both of you are very aware that you've never seen her so much as stub a toe. 

You've had your hands down her pants and her tongue in your mouth and you're embarrassed to see her stumble. 

"It's fine, I just dropped, ah, this," she waves off your concern with a toss of her dragon's hood. The air pops and the ball disappears into her modus. There's a fainter, echoing pop in the common room and you surmise that it must have been part of a set. 

"So," you voice. 

"So," she echoes. 

"You still hating on that one dude?" you ask, because _you're a stupid shit, what the hell is wrong with you, breaking hearts only a few weeks ago and you're asking about her_ spades, _jesus_ christ -- 

"Yes," Terezi answers hollowly, the line of her shoulders trembling, and she shakes her head and pushes past you to run down the hall. 

For a moment, you want to run after her, pull out paint and chalk and chill out until she's ready to talk, but a dull ache beats in your chest. No. The two of you aren't red anymore, and you certainly can't do pale, no matter how many times she's pulled you into a pile and teased you into talking. Maybe later it will be easier to talk, but right now, you're sick to fucking death of piles. 

You continue on your rambling way and reflect on how the ball looked like something a juggler might use.


	3. Chapter 3

**== > Dave: Wander.**

It's a sleepless night, so of course you wander the meteor, bored and alone. Your internal clock marks the hour at past midnight -- the best one you got, as it stays steady despite all the time warping bullshit the meteor goes through -- and you briefly contemplate seeking out company. Your friends must be up and roaring by now, even if some of them like to linger in their recuperacoons. 

Then again, you still can't talk to Terezi like you used to, Karkat is avoiding you until he gets over his pale palpitations, and Kanaya spends most of her time with Rose. You've accidentally interrupted the two of them enough times that you don't dare try to seek out Kanaya's company without forewarning. You get along fine with her, but she isn't above chasing you out of a room with a chainsaw after a few well-placed cat calls. For fondess, the chainsaw is usually off. 

At least Rose laughs about it. 

Hmm. Rose. 

You wonder if she's awake. 

**== >**

You arrive at the end of a hallway just off of Can Town, the walls painted with scenic skies and planets. The lone door is painted a vibrant, gaudy orange -- your idea, as it made Terezi cackle with glee over the taste of 'sassy, snippy creamsicle' -- and light seeps out from under it, splashing over your sneakers and the metal tiles of the hall. That alone tells you nothing. Rose falls asleep with the lights on half of the time. But you can hear faint humming and the click of ceramic against wood -- 

You push the door open and walk in to find her at her desk, pen in hand as she jots down notes in one of several journals scattered across the desktop. 

"Dave!" she greets without looking up. She finishes a sentence with a flourish and slams the pen down, finally turning to meet your eyes behind your sunglasses. "You're awake!" 

"It's like, one in the morning," you state with a shrug that asks, _the hell are you doing up?_

"Pssh, being diurnal is for prudes," she dismisses, and you don't need to take a glance into the mug at her elbow to know that she's been up drinking bathtub moonshine and avoiding any proper rest. What you don't know is why she'd be nervous now. When's the last time you even talked to her? 

You think back and realize you haven't talked to anyone for nearly a week, except for brief chat client conversations with Rose and Karkat. 

"Being diurnal is for responsible ass adults," you chide; you push the mug to the other side of the desk even as she giggles and mouths _'ass adults'_. "S'not like I can say much, though, since I'm just as up as you are, even if I ain't the same kind of impaired, how'd that even happen anyway, you get nervous writing down Gorblax's confession of truest pale to his hot-headed wizard mentor?" 

She's laughing before you can even finish your long-winded sentence, and though you're more than aware most of her delight is substance-based, it brings a smile to the corners of your mouth. 

"You must have missed the memo," she giggles, reaching for her mug -- you catch her hand and hold it firmly. "Gorblax and Ragdash the Belligerent have been piling for _sweeps._ " 

"Shit, I had them pegged as ash," you drawl, and she nearly cracks from laughter. This time, you can't find what's so funny, but you smile anyway. 

"What did you need?" Rose asks once she calms down, standing up, her hand still in yours. "I haven't seen you in here in a while. Can't sleep?" 

You shake your head and flex your fingers against her palm. She nods in understanding, pulling you towards the divan set against the far wall. Her room is as comfortable as yours, the floors covered by thick rugs and the walls hung with bright curtains to cover the stark walls. Despite your mumbled concerns, she refuses to get a bed, and instead sleeps on one of two divans or in one of the several pillow piles on the floor. In begrudging hindsight, it's hard to refuse her. The divans are ridiculously comfortable. You've slept on them on more than one occasion, usually after guiding a sleepwalking Rose back to her room. 

She sits down and pulls you down next to her, patting her thigh, and you dismiss the nagging embarrassment that still lingers in the back of your mind as you lay your head in her lap. 

She combs her fingers through your hair and you relax, just slightly. 

Doesn't matter how many times you do it, it still feels weird to be comforted like this. 

"Have you talked to Karkat lately?" Rose asks, voice clear and even. 

Your shoulders tense, knocking against her arm, and you blurt, "Why you asking about him?" 

She tweaks your ear, chuckling, and answers, "He came to me a week ago out of a guilty conch -- conscience and confessed that he had made a move on my moirail." She titters again, demurely hiding her laugh with one hand, the perfect picture of innocent gossip. You are not so calm. 

"He what?" you exclaim. "Did he seriously call me your damn _mwahrail?_ " 

"Oh, he was so contrite," she sighs, ignoring your alarm. "He shouted at my door for five minutes until he relived -- realized that I wasn't there, because I walked up behind him, and he jumped out of his skin like -- boo!" She jumps in place, jostling your head, and you turn to lay on your back so you can see her expression better. 

She's immensely amused and less clouded than before, despite her verbal slips. 

You're immensely interested, despite your lingering embarrassment about the horn-grabbing fiasco. 

"What'd he do then?" you ask, but her fingers are back in your hair and she's staring into the distance and smirking at what she's found. 

"He's right, though," she states, her train of thought jumping clear over the tracks. "You've been so sullen lately, it's no wonder he tried to get you in a pile. It's almost enough to be a drag, but I get why." She curls one hand into a loose fist and cups the air just beyond your temple, dark lips turning towards a frown. "It's hard to exist out here. Too much static." 

You stay silent, hands crossed over your stomach. 

She continues to comb through your now unruly mane, occasionally stopping to make tiny braids. It's hard to tell exactly how many sheets she has to the wind on occasion -- though you're now accustomed to find her putting at least a few on the line -- as her comprehension of things jumps with the hyperactivity of a sugar-infused child. You do know that a completely sober Rose would never let you lie silently with your head in her lap, nor would she confess to how the journey seemed to weigh ever more heavily on the mind. 

She's confessed a lot of things to you while drunk, mostly hidden among broken strings of sentences that you would never repeat. 

You've become increasingly aware of your mutual dependence and you are loath to betray it. 

She hums, patting your cheek -- you turn your head away, muttering something about _'leave off, mom, jeez'_ \-- and chirps, "My turn!" You sit up obligingly and kick off your shoes; she knocks pillows off the divan as you settle with your back against the arm, socked feet on the cushions. Rose wiggles between you and the couch and lays her head on your shoulder, one arm wrapped around your chest and eyelids fluttering under the influence of exhaustion. The skin under her eyes are dark smudges; you guess she's been awake longer than you have, and you've been awake for eighteen hours and thirty-seven tiring minutes. 

"Dude," she mumbles, settling down, "I'm so tired." 

"Yeah, that was obvious," you try to answer, but a yawn splits your words and she bursts into giggles. 

"Terezi been keeping you up all night?" she teases; you tense, drawing away and startled into forming an unkind rebuttal, but Rose claps a hand over your mouth, stammering apologies. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I forgot," she stutters, getting awkwardly to her knees, "I know, that was dumb, I just--" 

You nudge her hand away gently, growling out, "Don't worry about it." 

"Fuck," she whispers, sitting back on her haunches and wiping a hand over her face. _"Fuck."_

You sit up, now more concerned with Rose's distress than any flailing jealousy that might flare up in your chest. That she forgets small things while so sleep-deprived is not uncommon -- hell, you've dragged her to bed enough times only to go out and search for something she's lost that you're fairly familiar with that sort of forgetfulness -- but she's never cried about it before. At least, not in this level of sobriety. 

A bottle of water ejects from your modus and you catch it with a much practiced grab. You crack it open and hand it to Rose, noting her irritated eyes; she accepts it listlessly. 

"It's not that big of a deal," you try, shrugging. Verbal comfort is not your forte. "We only broke up like three weeks ago, I mean, even I forget we're not dating sometimes, and I'm all stoked and thinking we should do something, but it's like, oh, wait, that'd probably be weird--" 

Rose rubs at her eyes -- no tears fall, thank god -- and takes a drink. 

"-- and how're you going to remember shit like that when you haven't slept since last calender year and you're more sauced than a fancy ass saucier --" 

"I don't know what I would do if she left me," Rose admits in another tragic thought-train derailment. "I know why you did, but if she left me, what'd happen then?" 

You pause. 

Rose drinks again, patting her mouth dry with one sleeve. "We argued again today," she mumbles, dark lips pursed in embarrassment. "And I hate disappointing her so much, she's so wonderful, Dave, and I love her, but we argued." 

Oh. Kanaya. 

"And? People in love argue all the time. It's how shit gets figured out. It's only a problem if you keep arguing and don't resolve anything." You rest your elbows on your crossed legs and try to look as calm as possible in spite of the uneasiness roiling in your gut. You briefly consider if this is what Karkat would call _'ash'_ before kicking the sentiment out with the rest of your unhelpful thoughts. That's not how clovers work. Or something. You're just comforting your best friend who happens to be distressed over her relationship with her girlf-- her matesprit. 

_Fucking quadrants._

Rose chuckles wetly, the water bottle disappearing into her sylladex with a pop -- you'll have to remind her she forgot the cap, or else she'll spill it everywhere -- and asks, "Did you ever argue with Terezi?" 

You nod assent. The resolutions were usually less resolutions and more make-out sessions, but you two did argue. 

"Did you love her?" she adds. 

Yes. 

"I don't know." 

"Liar," Rose whispers, a small, familiar smile curving her lips, and she pulls you into a hug, leaning forward over your lap. You hug her back, all the words you want to say trapped somewhere in your throat. Rose is amazing in the worst sort of way; when the two of you were young, before The Game, you loved talking to her, though you would have never admitted it. She knew how to push your buttons and drive you crazy and calm you down, all with a few shrewd purple words, and you can't help but love her, even without the distressing ecto-sibling aspect added into the mix. You would have died for any of your friends, but for her, you would have died without. 

You settle for a simple, "You and your vampire babe are going to be fine," and pat her back, pulling away only to be arrested by her hands on either side of your face. 

"I love her," she states firmly. "We're going to be fine." 

"If you keep sober enough to realize it, yeah, sure," you agree, but she doesn't let go. 

"I love you," she states just as firmly. This close, you can smell the strange sour-sweet mixture of alcohol on her breath, and alarms bells ring in your mind. 

"I love you, too," you admit -- _jesus dick, if she remembers this and teases me about it I fucking swear to god_ \-- and grab her wrists to pull her hands away, but you don't move just yet. 

She smiles, bright and sweet, and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose, the rise of your cheek, and the shocked line of your mouth. 

**== > Dave: Stop her.**

You don't stop her. 

Rose pushes you backwards until you're lying flush on the couch with her palms pressed to your chest, your hands still loosely clasping her wrists, and she kisses you chastely. You're too surprised to do more than uncross your legs from being uncomfortably folded against hers, though you do press a knee against her stomach before she swoops in for another kiss. 

"The fuck are you doing?" you rasp. 

Rose pauses, her eyes clouding over with chemical confusion for a moment, before withdrawing her hands from your chest and leaning her weight on the cushion under your back. You let your leg fall in response, only to realize that she's perched right between your knees, looking down at you, and _fuck_ , how many times have you imagined her just like this? 

Except in your dreams -- long since banished, in light of recent things -- she was always sober and smirking. 

"I'm sorry," she says tremulously, and repeats it again. "I'm sorry." 

"Rose," you start, though you're not sure what to say, you only want to stop her distress, and you reach to cup her face in your hands. 

In the space of a moment, she's pressing her lips against yours once more, only this time you kiss her back, hands cupping the back of her head as though she were something fragile. She hums a small, pleased note, the vibration echoing through your open mouth, her chest pressed against yours and your legs drawn up around her waist and you've gone too far. 

**== > Dave: Start to panic.**

You're not panicking! 

(She sets one foot down on the floor for traction and rocks against you, a hand tugging on the hair at your temple until you relinquish access to your throat.) 

**== > Dave: Then continue.**

This is ten shades of illegal with impressionist jailtime, jackass, painted with the broad strokes of _fuck you_ , that's a terrible idea. 

(Her lipstick smears in a waxy stain over your jaw. Her kisses are methodical, exploratory, just as you thought they might be in years gone and still passing by.) 

**== > Dave: Then push her away!**

She'd fall off the couch if you did that, plus, you kind of perhaps don't maybe want to?! 

(You would die for your friends, you would die without her, and you are as close as blood and water, because you are fucking _siblings._ ) 

**== > Dave: Panic harder!**

_You're not fucking panicking!_

**== > Dave: Do SOMETHING, asshole!**

You do something, which turns out to be digging your heels until your back is against the arm of the couch and turning your face away from hers -- not _reluctantly_ , asshole, you _can't_ kiss her. You busy yourself thinking of all the reasons why -- _she's got a girl, she's buzzed, if not outright drunk, she's your goddamn_ sister -- as Rose leans against your chest and presses her mouth to the base of your throat. It's more languid and soft than just a moment before, and you are sorely tempted to let her continue -- 

\-- _she's got a girl, she's buzzed, if not outright drunk, she is my goddamn_ sister -- 

"No," you say hoarsely, clear your throat with a cough, and try again. "No, we should stop, this isn't right." 

She pauses in her explorations, head resting on your shoulder and hands safely pressed against your chest, but she says nothing. 

You sit tense and unsure, hands still hovering around her shoulders. What used to be a comforting gesture in the darker hours of your long journey is now undeniably a clusterfuck of _What Now?_ Should you say something? Offer a pillow, a blanket, tuck her in to sleep it off and abscond the fuck out of here? Leave her alone to think about how you abandoned her in her drunken need for-- shit, you don't even know. 

You do know that she's the one person you can't leave. 

"You don't like me, do you," Rose mutters against your neck. You shiver -- just a little, it tickles, damn it -- and shake your head in careful denial even as you finally settle your arms around her shoulders and hold her lightly. 

"Nah, it's not that." 

"You don't want to kiss me," she states with minimal slurring, even though she's pressed against you tighter than a limpet on a boat's ass. She trembles in the throes of some passing chill and draws her arms around your waist. You let your head thump against the arm of the couch and sigh. _I can't kiss you_ , rings in your mind, echoing in the tightening of your frame under her familiar weight. 

But you can't say that. 

"D'you want to kiss me sober?" you ask blandly. 

She doesn't answer. You crane your neck so you can see her face. Her eyelids have shuttered down, closed shop, come back tomorrow, and her breathing is deep and even. You're as familiar with this pattern as you are with the squeak of sneakers against metal floors. She'll sleep heavy for a while, wake up again, putter around blearily, and you'll convince her back into some sort of repose until a more decent hour occurs to you. 

You can't leave her, but you can't exactly stay, because you're uncomfortable in more ways that one. A crick is already forming in your neck from the hard arm of the couch. Like hell you'll be able to sleep there. 

So you do what you've done before. You carefully turn until Rose settles into the space between you and the back of the couch; you wiggle off the seat, picking up the cast-aside pillow and depositing it in your place. She hugs it to herself blearily as you pace around the room, picking up pillows and blankets and making up your own bed on the other divan before pushing it over, the sound muffled by thick rugs covering the floor. 

Rose only stirs a little when you line the couches up flush, facing each other. You jump over the arms and settle onto the couch, springs faintly creaking, and pull a blanket over her before lying down at her side. Her eyelids flutter and she draws an arm over your waist; you scoot closer so her head is pillowed on your arm and her hair tickles at your nose. 

You fall asleep to the gentle cadence of her breathing. 

**== >**

At some dark hour -- 4:24 AM, according to your internal clock, forever tuned towards Central time -- you wake up because Rose has shifted. It takes you a moment to realize that her back is pressed against your chest and she's curled around herself like a kid with a bellyache, but her expression is soft and peaceful. It takes you another moment to realize that you are lying on your side, one arm over her waist and your hand cupped loosely between hers. 

You tuck your knees into the hollows behind hers and press a small kiss to her shoulder, twining your fingers together, and she sighs in her sleep. It's a close sound, intimate and vulnerable, and you want to hear it repeated. 

With that, you confirm to yourself that you can't treat Terezi like your matesprit, as much as you loved being her boyfriend. 

You can't chill with Karkat in piles, throwing snacks at each other and talking about your problems with easy familiarity and maybe falling asleep against his shoulder, tucked in by a kind hand. 

You can't stay so close to Rose, with such affection pressing you together and a canyon of blood and wine keeping you apart. 

The rot is set in too deep.


End file.
